HUMANITY: Pablo.

By: MJ + PJ

Pablo appeared at the front of our tent, with rain dripping off his stiff blue poncho. Clearly he had seen our type before. He had observed us taking what was barely a path on the wrong side of the lower of the two lakes opposite his land. His alpaca herd was not disturbed much as we trudged upslope to the wrong side of the adjoining lake, but he was probably waiting for us to appear at his house. We didn’t.

It had been a long second day on our hike around Ausangate Mountain in south east Peru. The first mountain pass was the humbling kind of brutal, and that was early in the day. We had walked another few hours and then collapsed briefly on the wooden floor of the shelter barely a kilometer from where Pablo found us in our tent. We had continued, but the rain set in so we hastily set up the tent to bide some time and rest a little.

Pablo was difficult to understand – with the rain on the tent, and the poncho obscuring his mouth, it was hard to catch all that he said. He did inform us that the campground we were looking for was about one kilometer away, and that we were on the wrong side of the lake. This side had no trail and was a dangerous edge to attempt. To our surprise he explained that there was a rock bridge at the crest of the waterfall that drained the lake that we had not seen, barely 30m away. If we crossed the bridge and turned left we could walk to the campground. He then vanished with his dogs.

The rain eased, and MJ found the half of a bridge Pablo had described and noted that the alpaca must have jumped this bridge with Pablo, as they were nowhere in sight. MJ scouted for the path, incorrectly finding it on the edge of the lake to the left. He returned, and we quickly packed up the tent in the light drizzle of rain. After jumping the bridge gap, with packs on, and taking the wrong path out and back on the right side of the lake, we meekly showed up at Pablo’s hut as darkness fell.

At this point Pablo and his wife decided that we should just camp in their yard with the alpaca. Their dogs were curious and kept a good eye on us. As we put up the wet tent and fumbled with preparing some semblance of dinner, Pablo continued to tend to his alpaca and sheep in the yard. His wife had suggested to put one of their tarps under the tent, to shield us from the alpaca poop and any water coming down the yard, so we did. Yes, they had seen our type before, and had set this up before.

About 20 minutes, later Pablo pulled MJ aside and led him down to a corner of the yard. Willingly, but unwittingly, MJ followed him. He felt like an obedient alpaca trudging along in a fatigue stupor. There, near the rock wall, Pablo explained the well crafted pit toilet he had dug for us: In the rain. In the dark. With still more alpaca tending to do.

On the way back, MJ introduced himself and asked Pablo for his name, in Spanish. Pablo then put down his spade and foot plow to shake hands. It was a brief but genuine handshake. MJ then asked “¿Cómo se llama negro perro?”, which seemed to perplex Pablo, so maybe the dog had no name or MJ’s Spanish was atrocious and possibly offensive.

Waking up to about two inches of snow, we slowly packed up our gear and the cold wet tent. It had been a long and rough 24 hours and with the snow collapsing the tent through the night we were also devoid of sleep. Pablo tended his horses and other animals as we struggled to get some momentum to put our heavy packs on again. We met him in front of his hut, again confirming the direction we were meant to have taken twice before. We thanked him and gladly handed over the 10 Sol for camping on his land for the night. MJ recalled the only Quechuan he had remembered from Lake Titicaca a week before “Urpichay sonqoy”, which translates as “thank you”. Pablo responded with a smile and a brightening in his eyes, and gave us each an elbow handshake and wished us well on our way.

We spoke with the next local on the edge of the lake to confirm the actual campsite location, mentioning that we had stayed the night at Pablo’s. Upon the mention of his name, the local nodded slowly and smiled.

Hospitality comes in all forms. We could not deny that Pablo was a generous and kind man – he was not wealthy or entitled but he was certainly purposeful and fatherly.